#AtoZ : Hebrews

When Tevya spoke to God, he said, "I know, I know. We are Your chosen people. But, once in a while, can't You choose someone else."  Tevye was modeled after my grandfather's uncle, making me related to Sholem Aleichem, author of Fiddler on the Roof, and his grand daughter Belle Kaufman of Up the Down Staircase fame. I'm one of the people chosen to eat unleaven bread while others eat chocolate eggs.

I identify with Tevye when sitting around the Passover table. We enjoyed our family seders complete with our Haggadah, or seder book, that tells the story of our ancestors who were slaves in Egypt. The whole mishpacha took turns reading from the book. The best part of our seders, besides dinner, were the intellectual discussions. For example, we always end the seder with, "Next year in Jerusalem," but if we could really leave our homes and move to Israel for next year, would we? Or if God had only freed us from Egyptian slavery yet left us in the dessert to starve would it really have been enough? As Jews, we are taught to question thus providing great intellectual stimulation.

In the end, our story has not changed: They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat.

After a week of eating matzah, maybe it will be a good thing to have left over Dulcolax from the colonoscopy.

Lost in France #AtoZ

As a child, I was fortunate to attend thirteen years at one of the best public school districts in the country--Clayton in St. Louis, Missouri. This city of predominately wealthy retirees allowed us few young folks to bask in the privileges of their high tax dollars. The school supplied us with pencils and art supplies, we received free swimming lessons at the high school natatorium, and had the opportunity to go on amazing field trips.

When I was in the eighth grade, I took a field trip to Paris, France for a week with seven other students and my poor French teacher. This was one of the most amazing experiences of my childhood, but unfortunately, the last time Ms. Silberg took a class out of the country.

The nightmare began at Notre Dame Cathedral shortly before Easter. My friend Judy picked up a spray of holy leaves that she carried through the paved area in front of the church. A stranger stopped us to ask Judy where she'd gotten her holy weeds. Having only studied French for a year and a half, it took us awhile to translate what exactly the gentleman was saying and figure out how to answer him. By the time we finished talking to the stranger, something one should never do, the class had disappeared. 

We wandered throughout the grounds of Notre Dame looking for our teacher and classmates, but no luck. Not to worry. Knowing we were smart, fearless kids, we'd just jump on the subway and get off at our stop, Bastille. Unfortunately, we did not know that there were two Bastille stops, and of course, we jumped train at the wrong one. So, we were forced to wander the subways shouting, "Parlez vous Anglais?" to any passing stranger.

One woman stopped to tell us, "Yes. I speak English," but she looked totally frazzled when we spat out our predicament in a language that she just thought she spoke. This was surprising because it seemed like many of the French speak English. For example, at another part of the trip, we tried to get off at our subway stop but found ourselves blocked by a rather large passenger. 

We said, "Excuse-moi! Pardon!" but the woman wouldn't budge until Laura said, "Move it, lady!" See! An English speaker.

Anyway, we wandered the Paris subways for two hours and amazingly found our way back with the help of a woman from North Carolina who spoke both languages. By the time we reached our dorm, the teacher's hair shot out in every direction, her nails were chewed off, and she didn't know whether to hug us or slap us. Sorry Miss Silberg!

Oh mon Dieu! by E. Lansky

Tune in tomorrow when I tackle the letter M and my amazingly ridiculous moving situation.